At the Center
by HelenMG
Summary: Amid the hunt for Horcruxes and the shadows of uncertainty and fear, Hermione discovers there is something beyond magic, something beneath the surface, that has the potential to change the course of war. "You have got to be kidding me." She breathed, not believing the figure in front of her was real. "Ah, Granger. A pleasure to see you as always."
1. Chapter 1

**Diclaimer: It all belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling**

A/N: This is my very first fanfiction, and I'm really hoping it will get better as it goes. Anyway, I hope you have the patience to join me on this little adventure, and I hope you enjoy the story.

I.

Shakily, Hermione shut the clasp of her beaded bag, and placed it in her pocket. She couldn't afford to put it off any longer; she had to admit the truth to herself. It was, undeniably, time for her to go.

Desiring to put goodbye off a little longer, Hermione looked out of her bedroom window, into the grey abyss that lay outside, instantly regretting it. The Dementors had taken to filling the streets with their ominous presence, casting a somber fog over the landscape. The view from her window only reminded her of the very reason she needed to leave: Voldemort's forces were rallying together, casting shadows before breaking the quasi-peace currently in place. War was no longer an if—it was an inevitability.

Time was running out; perhaps it was already gone. Hermione could imagine the final grains of sand falling from an hourglass; she could envision the final ray of light disappearing in the final second of peace. When war broke out, she would not only be at the center of it, but also on the outside. She would be an undesirable, forced on the run because of her blood status. Though, she supposes, she would have been on the run anyway—she had to help Harry. Harry, who had seen too much of the evil harbored in the world, and whose path was filled with loss and destruction. Harry, who had lost the final barrier between him and the world's darkest foe.

Hermione could still remember that terrible night; the night Draco Malfoy had aided in destroying whatever peace and sanctuary still in existence for people like her. She could still see Dumbledore's lifeless body lying in a heap at the bottom of the astronomy tower, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine him falling, robes billowing in front of him, green light still reflected in his blue eyes—eyes that used to twinkle when Harry had done something incredible, or she had said something exceptionally clever. Hermione experienced a pang of sorrow whenever she thought about the loss that night. It was the loss of one of the biggest proponents of the light, the loss of their greatest protector.

However, even amid the sadness she felt, Hermione was still able to distinguish the acute anger she felt toward pointy-faced Draco Malfoy. Though she had to hand it to him—he had surprised her. Malfoy had done what was formerly deemed impossible; He had managed to infiltrate Hogwarts, the most heavily defended fortress in wizarding history. She would know—she had read a plethora of books on the subject.

Wishing to stop thinking about Malfoy before she gave him anything similar to a compliment, Hermione turned to face the inside of her room. It was plain now, missing all the knickknacks and books that had made it look like her own. She had packed those away previously to keep them safe. Safe from her parents' discovery and safe for her to find solace in during a particularly bad day.

There would be bad days—many of them. Hermione wasn't sure if there would be many good days from now on. She was going to be alone—no mother and father waiting for her at home, no classmates, not even Harry and Ron. In the hunt for Horcruxes, she was staying behind, researching in solitude and delivering her findings via looking glass. It was the only way.

Hermione allowed her reverie to digress to the previous night. The boys had told her that they had decided to hunt the Horcruxes themselves—_for your own protection_—they had insisted, like the worried, if not chauvinistic, friends they were. She had been angry, losing her calm and yelling at them, telling them she'd never forgive them if they didn't let her come along. She told them, voiced strong and eyes livid, that it was her decision, too.

In the morning, they were gone. They had flitted past her as she slept, like whispers in the night, and she supposed she had never had a choice, not really. The boys were insufferably stubborn when they felt like they were doing the right thing. But she was not one to give up quickly; she had tried to change their minds anyway. In the morning, she had apparated to Grimmauld place—the one place she was sure they would be.

The boys were smart, though. So much smarter than she had given them credit for during their school days. After spending so much time looking at them over corrected papers and telling them tidbits of seemingly useless information, the boys were bound to pick up on something.

There were wards set in place when she arrived; wards that would not allow her in. She had stood at the door, banging her fists through the rain, crying out to them. She knew they were on the other side of the door, together, trying their best to stay away from her so she would go home, like they knew she would. That way, they could travel under the delusion that at least she was safe.

After an hour in the pouring rain, Hermione had returned home—likely amidst sighs of relief—to pack up the rest of her stuff. Because of the rain, her hair was more frizz than curl, a monstrous mess surrounding her face. She could feel the beginnings of a sore throat and stuffy nose, another souvenir from her foray into insanity. Mentally, Hermione chastised herself—the boys had enough to worry about without the thought of her emotional health.

Besides, she wasn't alone, not really. She would talk to the boys often; the looking glass connected them already. Said means of communication was a surprise gift from Hagrid. The surprise was in the fact that it was useful, and not rock hard cookies. Previously, Harry owned something similar—a gift from his late godfather Sirius; however, it was out of commission. The new looking glass allowed for the holders to communicate with ease, and its magic was virtually untraceable. Hermione would be following leads and reporting them to the boys, who would then find the Horcruxes and destroy them. Hopefully quickly. Hopefully painlessly.

Hope. For something so futile, Hermione clung to it ardently. Though it was lighter than cigarette smoke, she latched to hope as if it were her rock, giving her stability in the sea of chaos and despair that was the current state of her life.

Snorting at the melodramatic turn her thoughts had taken, Hermione left the sanctuary of her room to venture downstairs. It was time for her to leave, but before she could do that, she had to make her parents safe.

She had done careful planning and research with regards to memory charms. According to her books, if she obliviated her parents, their memories would never return. The spell had a more permanent affect on muggles—that way there would be no chance of them regaining any type of wizard-related knowledge. That being said, Hermione's research also pointed her towards memory modifications. This would allow her to control what her parents could remember, and implant new memories. She could tweak it to make sure it wore off only with her words, and protect them from others' magic at the same time. This was the better option; however, if she were to die, the spell would immediately wear off. Her parents would be faced with an onslaught of memories they wouldn't be able to understand, and would be left without any form of protection. Not to mention the massive amounts of information regarding their past life that would mix with their altered life. It had the potential to overload their minds, rendering their brains unable to cope, and therefore unable to function.

In the end, though, Hermione had decided on memory modification. She was selfish, she supposed.

Walking downstairs, Hermione silently erased the evidence of her existence in each of the photographs on the wall, changing the photos that held only her. Slowly, she entered the living room, hoping to cast one more look at her parents before casting the memory-altering spell. However, when she reached the inside of the room, Hermione was surprised to see the back of a very blonde head. She sighed as the head slowly turned around.

"You have _got _to be kidding me." She breathed, not believing the figure in front of her was real. She breathed out again slowly, hoping the air would cause the mirage to disappear like puffs of smoke.

"Ah, Granger. A pleasure to see you as always." The blond man drawled.

Hermione could only gape, as the man's face molded into a familiar smirk.

"What, did you forget how to talk over holiday?" His smirk grew even larger. "I mean, honestly. Brightest witch of our age? They do give out titles too easily these days, don't they?"

_Close your mouth. _A voice in Hermione's head said. She quickly followed its instructions, then opened her mouth to speak. "What, in God's green earth, are you doing here, Malfoy?" Hermione finally managed. Collecting herself, she continued. "And no, I didn't forget how to speak—the foul aura that surrounds you muddled me for a moment. No matter, I'll adapt to the sludge that is your personality." _That's top-notch stuff, there, Hermione. _The voice sarcastically sneered.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the same time as Malfoy. "And there's the Granger I know and love." His face was curled into a look of distaste, as if her voice had reminded him of something very unpleasant.

This can't be real, Hermione kept telling herself. The blonde in front of her was merely a figment of her imagination—a product of her overtaxed mind, and her overwrought emotions. This was a dream, and soon she'd wake up with Ron and Harry, or with her mum and dad, or in bed at school. No war in the horizon, no war ever in the horizon.

But she knew that war was always coming; she knew this wasn't a dream. "You didn't answer my question Malfoy." Hermione said, hand running through her hair, wincing as it got stuck in the tangles. "What are you doing here?"

"Is that any way to treat a guest, Granger?" Malfoy smirked. "I was enjoying our little exchange."

"Guest?" Hermione scoffed, remembering every loathsome thing the boy in front of her had ever done. "You're scum, and I will treat you as I would treat the dirt on the bottom of my shoes. With revulsion."

Malfoy's eyes darkened. "Careful, Granger." He warned.

"No—you need to be careful. You did perhaps the most stupid thing ever—you ruined the safety of Hogwarts—the only place we could have been protected! You ruined _everything, _and you have the nerve to tell _me_ to be careful?"Apparently, Hermione had forgotten to speak intelligently when the boys had left. She heard her words and flinched at the way they sounded. This whole situation was ridiculous. Hermione growled, aiming her wand square at his chest. "I don't have to listen to you."

Abruptly, she stopped and looked into his grey eyes. "Are you an idiot, Malfoy? I could have the entire Order here in a moment to haul your sorry, scrawny self to Azkaban."

"Where I'd escape after a couple seconds." Malfoy interrupted. "But yes, you do bring up a fair point, Granger. One that I did think of, thank you very much. You didn't think I'd show up at the home of the brains of the disgustingly _perfect _Golden Trio without a plan, did you?" his face screwed into a sneer. "Don't be daft. I made at least six plans, Granger. I'm carrying out plan two. This is phase B."

"You mean plan B, phase two." Hermione answered, surprising herself.

"What?" Malfoy's sneer was replaced with an expression of incredulity as well.

"You're terminology is dubious at best—an indication that you are not as prepared as you would like me to think." Hermione replied.

For a moment longer, Malfoy looked surprised, then he answered. "No, my terminology is fine. I'm just subverting the linguistic standard… because I'm clever."

"Three points for the beginning of that sentence, a subtraction of two for the tail-end. You ran out of steam." Hermione retorted.

"But I've still gained a point, Granger." Malfoy returned. "My dodgy terminology notwithstanding, I came up with multiple plans, each having multiple solutions to whatever problems you could throw in my way-"

"Which didn't include me hexing you to next Tuesday, I'm sure." Hermione interrupted, in the middle of waving her wand.

"Now, now." Malfoy slowly backed up, holding his hands in what looked like surrender. "We don't want to make any foolish decisions." He said while moving his hand to touch the doorknob of the broom closet. "After all, what will happen to mummy and daddy?"

Hermione gasped, staring at the contents of the closet: the supine forms of her unconscious parents. "What have you done to them?" She nearly shrieked. She held her wand to him again. She needed the upper hand against this utter lunacy. Because that's what it was: pure, unadulterated insanity. "What's stopping me from cursing you right now? You couldn't possibly have thought this would coax me into submission—it only serves to make me angry."

"Point, Granger." Malfoy said.

"I'm missing it?"

"Yes," Malfoy began. "But I wish to inquire after the point you awarded me. What can they be used for?"

"Nothing." Hermione's brows creased with confusion. When had Malfoy gained enough intelligence to speak in riddles? "They're theoretical. They've no value-"

"But what you give them." Malfoy finished for her. Silence settled for a few moments, until he broke it with one word: "Information."

"Sorry?"

"A point for a question that must be answered." He said. "I will relinquish my point for an answer from you."

"If you think for one moment I'm going to give you information on Harry and Ron, you're absolutely barmy!" Hermione exclaimed. "The points don't mean anything—I was attempting to highlight the absolute lack of finesse you possess when you speak."

Ignoring Hermione's outburst, Malfoy asked, "What is phase B?"

"How am I supposed to know that?" Hermione asked, becoming angrier. "You're the mastermind—you tell me. What is phase B?"

"I'm glad you asked." Malfoy was almost smiling. "See, I knew you wouldn't be averse to attacking me if I came alone and did this to your parents. I thought ahead and decided the best way to have your cooperation would be by threatening your family and coming with an escort of a dozen more Death Eaters. You're free to submit to my will, now." Malfoy held his hands up at his sides, as if he were about to bow.

Hermione held the bridge of her nose. "You established a point system, and gave up your only point, all for dramatic flair?" Malfoy looked at her as if saying _what else would I have done?_ Realizing they were getting nowhere fast in this verbal repartee, Hermione spoke. "What will you have me do?" She finally conceded.

"Now we're talking." Malfoy answered. "I have a plan. It's mad."

"So are you." Hermione retorted. _So is this day_,_ so am I._

"Clever." He gave her a pointed look, silently asking her if she was going to continue speaking. She waved her arm, telling him to proceed. "Anyway, the plan is mad. The only way it could possibly work would be if I had the brightest witch of our age on my side. Enter you."

"And what's in it for me?" She asked, attempting to find a way out of the turn in his favor.

"The safety of your parents and the pride of a job well done."

"And if I refuse?" She asked, knowing there was nothing to be done.

"Then the Death Eaters come and kill your parents while you watch. And if that's not enough, they'll take you away and use you as bait to lure the boy who won't die to his imminent demise." He looked her squarely in the eye. "The cons far outweighing the pros, I'm hoping you conform to your stereotype and make the intelligent decision."

Admittedly, he had her. Not wanting to lose anymore of her dignity, Hermione raised her chin and sent Malfoy a piercing glare. "Fine." She bit out. "I'll help you."

Malfoy clapped his hands in mock glee. "How lovely!" He was grinning—funny, Hermione couldn't remember a time when he had looked happy. All she could remember was the boy who looked too thin in his fine black suits, who tried and failed to cover the purple bruises under his eyes, whose hands shook when he thought no one was looking. "Now we need to leave, but we need to take care of your parents first."

"Right." Hermione turned to face Malfoy. "This was part of my plan, before you came, shredded said plan, and fed the pieces to angry piranhas." She calmly stated. She didn't know why she was being so calm—she was under threat of a dozen Death Eaters and couldn't say goodbye to her parents in the fashion she had wanted. Not to mention her plan was destroyed; _months _of careful research down the drain in mere minutes. Come to think of it, that calm was fading fast. Hermione noted that the room was beginning to spin; maybe this was how a nervous breakdown felt. She took a deep breath to try to steady her nerves, resulting in Malfoy giving her an expectant look.

"Well?" He prompted. His inquiry was met with an icy glare.

After careful muttering, Hermione had modified her parents' memories. She then levitated them onto the couch and turned on the television. They would wake up believing they fell asleep to the telly, completely unaware of their daughter's existence.

Quietly, she gave them both a kiss. Something to take along with them, even if they didn't know what they had.

After looking at them a little longer, willing her eyes not to well up with tears, Hermione turned to Malfoy. He was looking at her while biting his lip, as if he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure what. After a little more lip biting, he finally opened his mouth. "I know what you did." He began. "And I know it was hard." He pursed his lips, his eyes looking down.

For a moment, Hermione was taken aback. "Are you… showing… _compassion_?"

"Please." And like that, the regular, gitty Malfoy was back. "That word doesn't exist in the Malfoy vernacular. I was merely pointing out a fact. Your action may have been difficult, but it was necessary." He seemed to go over what he had said in his head, and satisfied, he punctuated with "Now let's go."

"Your sensitivity never ceases to amaze me." Hermione answered.

"How many Death Eaters do you think are sensitive to others' feelings?" Malfoy retorted. The words were like a bucket of ice water and caused Hermione to blanch, thus ending the banter they had been sharing. Malfoy's sudden reappearance had caused Hermione to forget about the recent past. For a little while, she was back at Hogwarts, verbally sparring with a Slytherin ferret, relishing the feel of fighting down nothing but a schoolyard bully. With Malfoy's words, Hermione suddenly remembered where she was, and what she was dealing with. She wasn't at Hogwarts anymore, and the boy in front of her was no longer just a bully.

As if sensing her unease, Malfoy looked down at his feet, as if he was trying to think of a way to dissipate the tension that had taken root in the room. After a moment, he stood straight again. Squaring his shoulders, he gestured to the door. "Vamoose." He said, turning on his heel and walking out.

Hermione sighed, following the tall blonde through her front door and into the foggy street. It was beginning to rain, and storm clouds were casting shadows upon the pavement. The current weather was poetically fitting to her current state, and Hermione noted that it also bordered on the theatrical. How delightful.

After contemplating the poetry of the weather and addressing questions such as the rhyme and meter of said poem, Hermione concluded it was a tragic, loathsome verse that she didn't really care to read anymore. She then looked ahead, expecting to see the Death Eaters Malfoy had threatened her with. Instead, she went cold. There was something off—where the shadows formed, no masked terrors emerged. There were no Death Eaters in sight—no Death Eaters present at all.

Though she should have been pleased about this new development, Hermione was instead very nervous. She had been played for the fool; brightest witch of her age, and she had been tricked by a stupid _ferret._ But her heart continued to pound, even with the insults she continued to form in her mind. If Malfoy wasn't flanked by Death Eaters, he had capricious plans for her. He was unpredictable, but it still raised the question: what did he want with her?

The ferret in question was standing next to her, without the common decency to look ashamed. Instead, he was smirking. So, Hermione did what she though would wipe the smirk from his face in the fastest way possible: she punched him.

Malfoy sputtered in surprise, holding his hand to his nose while staring at her in shock. "Shit, Granger! What the hell is your problem?"

"You lied to me!" she nearly shrieked.

"Well, I'm not the poster child for morality! You should have known better!" He answered.

And she should have. Because at the end of the day, Malfoy was a Death Eater—he had never tried to make her believe otherwise. His failure to give her more reason to hate him only served to incense Hermione further. In her anger, Hermione began to scream at Malfoy and was so engrossed by her verbal castigation, she didn't notice as he began to speak. As she turned, her face screwed into a glare that could cause a lesser man to combust from its sheer ferocity, Malfoy uttered one word:

"_Stupefy_."

A flash of red light hit Hermione in the chest, while her face morphed into a look of surprise. She crumpled to the floor gracelessly, hair flying and limbs flailing.

"Phase D complete." Malfoy stated, as he gathered her prone form in his arms. Her head lolled to the side and Malfoy carefully pocketed her wand.

With a _crack_, he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Diclaimer: It all belongs to J.K. Rowling.**

A/N: Hello again. I had the day off from sorting filing cabinets for America Day. I figured I'd celebrate my freedom with a bit of writing. I hope you like it.

II.

Hermione awoke with a strip of sunlight in her eyes, and the smell of pine needles surrounding her. Groaning as she felt the stiffness in her neck, Hermione noticed she was lying on a couch that had seen better days, in a small room, unfurnished save for the couch and a table with one chair. After a quick survey, Hermione noticed a door, lying partly ajar, and leading into what looked like a forest. In a flash, she was on her feet, reaching for her wand. She growled in frustration when she realized her wand was not with her at all.

This had the foul stench of Malfoy all over it! On a quest to find her wand and break a certain git's nose, Hermione rushed from the room, seeing Malfoy's back by the edge of a sizable lake. Stealthily, she snuck behind him, and whirled him around so they were facing. Malfoy's face held a hint of shock before he noticed where her fist was moving towards, and grabbed her wrist.

"I am capable of learning, you know." He huffed in irritation. "You weren't getting away with socking me a third time."

"Can't blame me for trying." Hermione retorted, as she jerked her knee into his stomach.

Malfoy immediately released her wrist and fell to the ground, groaning. "What the hell was that?"

"My knee." Hermione returned.

"Obviously." Malfoy said, as he rolled onto his knees. "What was that for?" He bit out.

"I want my wand back." Hermione snarled, completely losing whatever thin thread of patience she had left.

"I thought we established I'm not stupid." Malfoy stood up. "I give you your wand, and you run. And then you return with most of the Order."

"As I well should!" Hermione was pulling out her hair. "You kidnapped me!"

"You came by your own free will." Malfoy said.

"I came under duress." Hermione snapped. "You threatened me."

"With nothing." Malfoy replied.

"I didn't know that!" Hermione cried. "You're a Death Eater. You're the reason why Dumbledore is dead, and I have to go on the run. Forgive me for believing you when you threatened me with violence." She ended sarcastically.

"Right." Malfoy's face had fallen just enough for Hermione to notice, and, for a moment, she almost felt sorry. "I'm a walking death sentence. But at least I'm not a bushy-haired know-it-all with no home, no friends to turn to, and no sure safety." And suddenly, the beginnings of sympathy were gone. "You are at _my _mercy, Granger. You'd do well to remember that."

Hermione rushed towards Malfoy again, wishing she had her wand to hex him. Before she could reach him, Malfoy raised his hand and sent her flying into a tree, vines tying her down. Hermione futilely struggled against her bonds, unable to hide the surprise from her features. "How did you do that?" She sputtered.

"You're intelligent." Malfoy retorted with a smirk. You're the reason I was second in the class for six years, and the reason I started doubting my beliefs. Forgive me for keeping it a secret for a while longer." He turned from her and began walking towards the tiny house.

"Aren't you going to let me down?" Hermione called from her spot on the tree.

"You know, Granger, I don't think I will." Malfoy smiled over his shoulder. "Good morning."

Hermione waited until he had closed the door behind him. Then she screamed.

::

The scream sent from Granger's obvious frustration had Draco Malfoy flinching as he crossed the short expanse of room to seat himself on the sole chair available. Though he admired Granger's attempt at hiding her emotions, the walls certainly weren't soundproof.

Draco looked down at his hands, willing them not to shake but failing miserably—just as he had failed so many things before. He'd be lying to himself if he said he wasn't scared; so that's what he did. He lied to himself. _You aren't afraid of her. You can handle her._

But he couldn't—or he could, he just didn't know how. Granger was a wild card; he never knew what she was going to do when they were in school. He _still_ had no idea what her next move was—that's why he tied her to a tree. She couldn't do anything from tied to a tree, he was almost positive.

Draco quickly peeked out the window to be sure he was right, only to be met with a glare that he was sure could have reduced him to cinders. Alright, maybe she could do something from a tree. Draco quietly noted that he should stay away from the windows until he formulated a new plan.

Stretching his fingers in front of him until he could hear a satisfying _crack_, Draco pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket. He had found the pen on one of his escapades into the muggle world, before he had decided to leave his home for good. It was easy to use, and, frankly put, Draco couldn't understand why wizards ever used quills.

Settling in to write out what he was confident would be an excellent plan, he eagerly held the pen in his hand, waiting for inspiration to strike. Waiting… waiting… waiting.

Draco let his thoughts wander, remembering the feel of wind on his skin after being holed up in his house for months, and the tinkling of laughter from his mother when he was a little boy and had tied a pink bow on her favorite house elf. He remembered the sunrise over the very lake he was staring at before Granger came racing out of the house and fully into his life, lights on and horns blaring. That sunrise was the first colorful thing he had seen since that terrible night at Hogwarts, when everything went to Hell. It was the first thing he'd seen that wasn't surrounded by shadow, and his breath had stopped for a moment, as if the small exhalation would destroy the entire sky. In that moment, he decided the pinks and oranges were the most beautiful things he had ever seen, sod the exotic places he had been and the lavish parties he had attended.

That sunset, as cliché and trite as it sounded, was his rebirth. He had spent so many years spent watching the sun fall, waiting for darkness, wondering what was going to happen in the shadows, and all he needed was to watch the sun climb to understand what needed to be. To know there was something he could do, had to do.

Right before his thoughts could bridge into the past—the time before he had made up his mind to stand rather than cower, before he had decided to fear inactivity rather than death—he heard his name being screamed by a certain bushy-haired, mangy enigma of a woman. Capping his pen, he rose and opened the door, allowing Granger's words become clear.

"Draco Malfoy! If you value your pitiful life, you will let me down from this tree right now!"

For a moment, Draco allowed himself to smile before stepping outside and into the light.

::

Hermione had been in a lot of sticky situations—more than she ever wanted to admit—but this one took the cake. She was literally tied to a tree by Malfoy, the boy who couldn't even breathe without the approval of his father.

She was tied to a tree, sans escape plan, wand or sanity. And to add the cherry on top, whatever cold she had caught in the rain was steadily growing worse. Her throat felt as if she had swallowed steel wool, and her head was pounding to the beat of a very lively marimba. Though the pounding couldn't be helped by her incessant head banging against the tree trunk, she supposed.

Feeling her hair expand under the sun, Hermione watched as the morning progressed. She vaguely wondered when she'd finally be released from her bonds, and was too proud to call for Malfoy. If he was waiting for her to ask for her freedom, he could wait for eternity.

As soon as she had finished that thought, Hermione felt a steady vibration coming from the beaded bag in her pocket. Silently thanking whatever deity had granted her this bit of luck, she quickly came up with a plan to get away from the tree.

"Draco Malfoy! If you value your pitiful life, you will let me down from this tree right now!" She yelled, wincing at the way she sounded unhinged and the inevitable voice crack after hours of inactive vocal chords.

Malfoy opened the door of the microscopic cottage and walked out, blinking in the sunlight. "Yes, Granger?" He called out lazily, running a hand through his hair, boredom reflected in his eyes. The git.

"Let me down." Hermione gritted out, teeth bared and hair wild.

"But Granger," Malfoy's voice sounded almost like a whine, as if he were a petulant child. "The humidity is doing such wonders for your hair."

If she could slap him, she would. His smirk looked the same as it had in school, and she had wanted to slap him so many times then, too. "Oh, you really are a charmer." She shot back.

Malfoy chuckled. "One point, Granger. That was funny—even if sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."

"Will you let me down for my point?" She asked hopefully.

"Nope." He answered, popping his 'p.'

"Well then let me down because of this." Hermione said, Malfoy looking towards her, eyes full of expectation. "The boys are trying to contact me, and if I don't answer very soon, they're going to get worried, they're going to track us down, and they're going to ruin whatever mad, idiotic plan you had in mind." The mirror was untraceable, but Malfoy didn't need to know that.

If it was even possible, Malfoy's face became paler. "Potter and Weasley?" He quietly inquired.

"Who else?" Because really, who else would be stupid enough to brave the threat of a Death Eater for her?

With a sigh, Malfoy raised his hand. The vines fell away from her and she was finally free. Hermione took a deep breath, stretching her arms above her head and lengthening her spine. "I need my wand, too." She said, raising her chin to stare him down, hand outstretched and waiting.

"What's to stop you from apparating away?" Malfoy asked her.

"Nothing." She answered, the truth of that single word ringing clear.

"Granger, you have to listen to me." Malfoy's voice was pleading, his brow furrowed with entreaty. "I have something that will change _everything_. The war, our lives—_everything._"

"You know I can't believe you." Hermione bluntly stated. "You've already proven yourself to be untrustworthy, tactless, and utterly stupid."

"See my thoughts, then." Malfoy said, ignoring her extra barbs. Use legilimency." He faced her, palms out, and she tried not to view him as some sort of sacrificial lamb.

"Can't," she said. "I'm not a legilimens." And it was true. Though she was a practiced occlumens, she couldn't peel back the layers of another's mind. It was too personal; it made her feel dirty, as if she had stolen something.

"And I've no penseive." Malfoy grumbled. Then he looked up, and strode towards her.

Hermione sent him a confused glare as he neared her. He cupped her face in his hands for a moment, ignoring her attempts to wrench herself away, before saying, "Right, I'm sorry about this, but this is for the best. Promise." Then he took a deep breath and hit his forehead against hers with an ungodly amount of force.

"Shit." He said, and Hermione wanted to agree, but her mind was being invaded by Malfoy's memories all at once, and the pounding in her head was reaching a crescendo. She saw Malfoy, purple shadows under his eyes, flinching at the sound of his name being hissed by Voldemort. Then she saw him holding back tears next to a grave, face staying passively stoic, when all he had wanted to do was scream. There he was, hands shaking, holding a four leaf clover—then with two broken hands—then with a muggle pen in hand hurriedly scribbling on a worn notepad. There was darkness, endless darkness, and heavy breathing, and sharp intakes of breath from the pain of broken ribs, or swollen eyes, or a ripped heart. Then there were flasks, and burners, and cauldrons, and there was stolen time, and hurried glances at a pocket watch. There was the hasty packing of bags, silent goodbyes to a little elf with a pink bow and a home he wouldn't return to. Then there was the wind, a sunset, and her face.

And Hermione was screaming, because it was so much, she had seen too much of this boy who wasn't a boy any longer. And he was telling the truth, and she had no clue what to make of it, or what to say, but she knew she had to help him, because he was telling the _truth._

"Oh my God." She had finally croaked when she was confident she could speak.

"Exactly." Was his only reply, eyes looking past her, head a little red from when he had assaulted her with his memories.

And that word held something more, she just hadn't realized.

::

The next few minutes were the product of a collaboration, unprecedented considering the two individuals involved.

Malfoy had given Hermione back her wand, a glass of water, and made a few more gibes about her physical appearance, which she had returned with a light stinging hex. Or a potent one; it served him right, after all. Following the stinging hex, Malfoy had made himself scarce, disappearing into the forest with a promised return and a silent entreaty to keep his secrets.

Which she had agreed to, small smile and all.

That brought her to this current moment, her hair falling into her face as she hunched over to look at the mirror. She waved her wand, whispering prayers that the boys would answer quickly, that they hadn't assumed the worst.

While she waited, the glass seemed to ripple, like a lake upset by a thrown rock. The ripples stilled, revealing the familiar faces of Harry and Ron, and Hermione sighed; she was home.

"Sorry I didn't answer your call." She quickly said, hurriedly tripping over her words in her need to assure them that everything was all right. "I was otherwise engaged, but everything is fine."

Harry smiled. "We figured you were busy."

"No, mate," Ron interrupted. "We thought you had died and that we'd find your limbs scattered in the four corners of the world." He exaggerated his words, letting Hermione know he was merely joking, trying to poke fun at their current predicament.

Hermione laughed and Harry rolled his eyes. "If she knows we worry that much, she'll never let us alone." He said. Then he looked up at Hermione, apologetic look in his eyes. "I'm sorry." He whispered. "I'm so sorry we left you like we did. I-"

Hermione interrupted him. "I get it." She said, trying not to let her tight smile betray any of her anger. "But when this is all over, you can expect a very long lecture on misogyny and the finer points of feminism and its importance to both genders."

Ron took this opportunity to butt into the conversation. "Oh great, not another cause." He groaned. "First Spew, now this?"

Hermione grinned. "It's S.P.E.W.—not spew."

"Right," said Ron. "Spew." Then his face seemed to light up. "Hang on a sec," he stood and left sight of the looking glass. "I have something I want to show you."

"Alright," Hermione called, looking at Harry with her brows raised. He shrugged in response, opening his mouth to speak.

Hermione stopped him before he could, blurting out "I haven't gotten to start anything with the Horcruxes yet—I just left home yesterday. And there's something else I've found—something different, and I'm not sure if it will help, but I've got to try because it has the potential to change _everything_." She remembered Malfoy's face as she said that, how it was filled with a plea, and how his hands folded together as if in prayer. "So I'm sorry, but I'm going to do both—don't worry, I won't neglect either—everything is going to be fine."

"Whoa, slow down Hermione." Harry said, hands reaching towards the image of her. "I wanted to tell you about a lead Kreacher gave us about the locket."

"Oh." Hermione said, releasing a puff of breath that had her bangs flying upwards. "Right."

"What's Hermione worried about?" Ron called, voice muffled as he continued to search for whatever he was looking for.

"She's found something and doesn't want us to think she's wasting time researching it." Harry called back, smile painting his features.

"Tell her she's being ridiculous." Ron returned.

"She can hear you!" Hermione said, slightly louder.

Ron came back onto the screen. "We trust you, Hermione." he said, smiling, as if her worries were unfounded. "We know you're capable of doing both."

Hermione smiled back. "So what's this lead?" she asked Harry.

"Well, the locket was stolen by Mundungus Fletcher." Harry said, frowning. "And here's the kicker: he sold it to Umbridge."

"That cow?" Hermione asked. "I'm surprised her neck isn't too thick for the necklace. It's liable to choke her."

Ron snorted. "Easy, Hermione."

"What are you two going to do?" Hermione looked between the two boys, who were both looking anywhere but her. "Oh no." Hermione breathed. "You two are thinking about doing something stupid."

"Not stupid per se," Ron's tone was too comforting for Hermione's taste. "Just mad."

Well, that couldn't end well—she had that on very good authority. Hermione groaned, "What are you two planning?"

"We're infiltrating the ministry." Harry quickly stated.

"Infiltrating isn't a euphemism for something else, is it?" Hermione hopefully inquired.

"Nope." Harry uncomfortably grinned, eyes wandering around whatever room he was in.

"Argh!" Hermione eloquently said. "It _is_ stupid! You're enemy number one, Harry! You're walking straight into the lion's den!"

"But I'm planning on walking straight out." Harry optimistically added.

Hermione massaged her temples, trying to rid herself of her headache and the worrisome thoughts currently making their way into her consciousness. "You have the Polyjuice reserves I left you, yeah?"

"Of course." Harry reassured.

"And a plan?"

"Do we ever!" Ron exuberantly added. "We already have the hair, and the times, and the map memorized."

"Alright, then I guess I'll just have to trust you two to get out alive."

"You can put all your faith into us." Harry said. "We aren't going to let you down—just like we know you won't let us down."

Hermione allowed herself to smile, and decided to change the subject. "So, what was it you wanted to show me, Ronald?"

Ron grimaced, bringing a knitted sweater into her line of vision. "Mum made me another sweater before we left." he said. "I know it's always maroon, but I swear, this one's even more ghastly than usual."

And because it certainly was, Hermione laughed.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: It all belongs to J.K. Rowling.

A/N is at the end

* * *

III.

Still chortling to herself, Hermione carefully placed the mirror back into her beaded bag. She had closed communication only after eliciting a promise from the boys: they were to talk to her before and immediately after their invasion of the ministry.

Hermione raised her head, and followed the sound of rustling leaves behind her, only to be met with a furious scowl from Malfoy.

"You were using a looking glass?" his voice was laced with anger. "That's untraceable! They couldn't have tracked you down even if they tried."

Hermione put a hand to her head, trying to ignore the pain that was only agitated by the rising volume of his voice. "I wanted free, and I wanted my wand." She stated. "Plus, the look on your face was a definite bonus."

"You tricked me." Malfoy accused.

"As if you've never done it before." Hermione snorted. "Stop looking so surprised."

"You should have been a Slytherin."

"Stop." Hermione sneered. "That's not a compliment." She paused before adding, "Besides, I'm too intelligent."

"And I'm not?" Malfoy asked, one brow raised.

"Arguable." Hermione said, beginning to walk ahead of Malfoy and towards the tiny house. "And you _are_ evil." She added.

"That's insulting." Malfoy began to follow her, eyebrows now pointing downward.

"Good." Hermione replied over her shoulder. As they neared the door, Hermione turned around, fixing Malfoy with a pointed stare. "I need answers. Now."

"What do you need to know?" Malfoy questioned, face a veritable mask.

"Try everything!" Hermione answered. "I need concise, concrete explanations for everything you showed me." Her eyes narrowed. "I don't like keeping secrets from the boys, and I need a better reason to keep quiet. Showing me a montage of you stuck in the dark isn't going to cut it."

"Did you miss everything, or am I just going crazy?" Malfoy's hands curled into fists. Slowly, he took a deep breath, his eyes closed. "You have one point, Granger. You can ask me anything."

"Whose gravestone did you show me?" she immediately asked, brow quirked in curiosity.

"I'm amending my previous statement." Malfoy said. "You can ask me anything but that."

Hermione breathed deeply, too irritated to argue with him. "Why are you doing this—helping?" She asked instead.

"Good question, excellent question." He answered, meeting her expectant gaze. "I'd award you another point for that, but I can't handle you having another."

Hermione coughed, urging him to continue on the topic. He looked up into the sky before speaking again. "Did you ever notice how the Malfoy family is always on the winning side? How we're constantly embedded wherever the political favor lies?" Malfoy looked at Hermione, as if making sure she was keeping up. She rolled her eyes in response. "Right, so we're political chameleons—we blend in perfectly."

"I hardly see how—"

"That's why I'm helping you." Malfoy cut in, before her remarks could become too acerbic. "I'm tired of blending in—I want to stand out."

His words sound too practiced, and so utterly out of character. This was coming from the boy who had tormented so many people during school, and had flaunted his wealth. He'd never blended in—not a single day in his life. Hermione gave him a look, eyes narrowed and nose scrunched up in distaste. "You're lying." she said.

"Excuse me?" Malfoy asked, face impassive.

"You're lying to me." Hermione repeated. "Don't insult me—I can recognize a lie when I hear one." She gave him a pointed look. "You have two options, Malfoy." Fire lit her eyes, and she felt her hair expand. "Either watch me apparate away—which I will do, regardless of whatever crackpot scheme you've got cooking in that pointy head of yours—or tell me the truth. Because I'm not going to play games with you. I'm exhausted, alone, and unwilling to put up with your stupidity."

Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, his face still devoid of any emotion. Hoarsely, he said, "I'm tired of shadows."

"Is that supposed to be enough?" Hermione asked.

"It will have to be." Malfoy answered, walking inside the cottage, trusting her to follow.

And she did, because though he was still more mystery than she liked, Hermione was a sucker for puzzles. She was curious, and she wanted answers—that's just who she was. That aside, Hermione followed Malfoy for one more reason; simple as it was, his one sentence meant something.

"So, are you going to explain what those flasks and other…things meant?" Hermione asked Malfoy's back, brushing over the darkness and injuries he had shown her.

Without a word, he opened a door on the floor that Hermione hadn't notice before, pulling out a trunk. Opening it, he reached in, producing massive amounts of paper covered in hurried scrawl. Hermione groaned—she was going to have to read that, she was sure of it; and the penmanship was atrocious.

Looking up at her over the papers, Malfoy began to speak. "Have you ever heard of science, Granger?"

"Oh no, never." Hermione's tone was caustic. "I grew up in the muggle world, and I have no idea what science is."

"Snark is not your color." was his reply. Hermione awarded his sparkling wit with a contemptuous glare, which he pointedly ignored.

"Anyway," he continued. "I hadn't really known what science was until this summer." his forehead was creased in thought. "I mean, it was just supposed to be muggle-talk—their finding reason in the unexplainable; their need to elucidate away all the things they couldn't understand…

"So, I hadn't put much thought into it—no thought at all, actually. That was until I found this." Malfoy reached into his pocket, revealing a four-leaf clover. "It's good luck." He said, as if those three words were explanation enough.

"According to every superstitious muggle, and most of Ireland!" Hermione cut in, taking a deep breath to calm herself. No dice. "You can't be serious." She whispered before shouting out, "I'm going to kill myself! Then, I'm going to resurrect myself and let the boys murder me too! This is the game changer? A four-leaf clover?" She brought her hands to her face, not caring that she sounded unhinged.

Malfoy quickly grabbed her wrists, pinning them down at her sides. "Granger," his voice was gruff. "Pull yourself together. I'm not done explaining myself."

While Hermione took more deep breaths, Malfoy pursed his lips. "Do you do this often—fly into a panic?" he questioned. "Because if that's so, that means you have an excess of beta—"

"Stop digressing." Hermione warned.

After a pause to right himself, Malfoy continued. "It was a suicide mission of sorts." he gravely began. "An extra punishment for failing to kill Dumbledore myself. You-Know-Who sent me to one of the more…volatile vampire covens. They were notoriously uncooperative: very violent, very thirsty. It was supposed to be a death sentence.

"Before I left, I was sitting in the grass by…well, that's not important." He stopped himself before continuing. "I was sitting in the grass, and I saw this." He twirled the clover in front of himself. "And maybe I was feeling poetic, or maybe I wasn't feeling anything at all—but I plucked it and kept it with me.

"When I got to the coven, I was with two other Death Eaters—they had angered You-Know-Who at some point. I don't really know the details of their actions, but they were there, and they were immediately killed. Yet when I was sure the vampires were coming for me, they didn't get anywhere near me. There I was, knees shaking, frozen in fear. I was expecting to _die_—anticipating it, even. But they didn't touch me.

"I figured that was as good a sign as any, so I went on my way. I went back home, looked You-Know-Who in the eye, and told him the vampires were not interested in joining our war." Draco grimaced.

"What happened next?" Hermione asked, unsure if she wanted to hear the answer.

Malfoy pulled his lips into a grim smile. "He said I was being cheeky. And that's how I broke my hands."

"Oh." Hermione breathed.

For a moment, Malfoy looked down at his hands before looking back up. "They got better." He said simply. "And when they did, I started experimenting.

"The grounds of Malfoy Manor are extensive, and though we use magic in its upkeep, there are patches of clovers on the outskirts of our land. I went there one day, searching for another four-leaf clover. I spent hours sifting through the blasted weeds by hand, until I remembered that I'm a wizard." He darkly chuckled.

"Prize in hand, I returned to the coven and found that the clover was useless." His eyes stared straight ahead. "They attacked me, but I was prepared in case of failure. I escaped, relatively unscathed." His eyes returned to look at Hermione. "But my excursion raised more questions than it answered. So I returned to the patch of grass from before, and I found myself more mutant clovers—because that's all they are; mutated clovers." He almost smiled. "Funny how a single genetic mutation can change so much.

"Anyway, I digress." Malfoy closed his eyes in thought. "Do you want to know the difference between the two patches of clover? One was on the outskirts of a sparsely populated wizard manor; the other was right outside a muggle city. You said yourself; lucky clovers are merely a muggle superstition—and I agree. But there's something in the core, something that's made their superstitions into a reality."

"It sounds too far-fetched, Malfoy." Hermione shook her head.

"But it's not." Malfoy assured her. "How much do you know about the brain, Granger?"

"Other than the fact that it's basically the computer of the human body?" She asked, before remembering that Malfoy probably didn't know what a computer was. However, he seemed unfazed. "It's the center of the nervous system, and it contains billions of neurons connected by synapses. It's the most complex organ in the human body." she added, remembering one of her old textbooks. "It contains more links than there are atoms in the entire universe."

"Don't be silly, Granger." Malfoy drawled, ignoring the look of outrage on Hermione's face. "The universe is constantly expanding. How could there possibly be more synapses than atoms in the universe? Neurons are finite—the universe is not." Before Hermione could retort, he held up a finger. "However," he said. "One cubic centimeter of the brain holds more neurons than the Milky Way holds stars."

"They don't know how many stars are in the Milky Way." Hermione corrected.

"They don't know how many atoms are in the universe." Malfoy retorted. "But in terms of stars and neurons, we're estimating high." he finally conceded. "Imagine that—carrying an entire galaxy worth of stars in one cubic centimeter of your brain. When you think of it that way, the amount of power in a single thought is overwhelming."

Her headache progressing to a migraine, Hermione became frustrated. Malfoy was making sense, but she still couldn't see the connection. She couldn't fathom a way for a thought to change the constitution of a common plant, unless… "Brainwaves." The idea burst from her lips, and her eyes lit up in recognition. "A human's brainwaves has an electrical current, so if what you're saying is right—"

"A muggle's belief has the potential to embed itself in the core of an object, giving it the qualities the muggle considers it to have." Malfoy finished for her. "I can tell you the genetic make-up of a clover—or any plant for that matter. They all share a string of Glucose, forming Cellulose—but the thing is, the change doesn't happen at the genetic level. It happens at a smaller step, before DNA and molecules. It happens—"

"At an atomic level." Hermione cut in. "The smallest particle to have elementary properties."

"Ladies and gentlemen, the brightest witch of our age." Malfoy clapped his hands in mock praise. "You're missing something very important, Granger." Malfoy added when he saw the miffed look on Hermione's face. "If it depended on the element, the amount of working good luck charms in the muggle world would be severely limited."

Hermione gestured for him to continue. "Enlighten me."

"What we're looking at is smaller than the atom—it's even smaller than protons and electrons. We're looking at quarks."

Hermione couldn't help but giggle; it was a funny word. "You mean like the six different flavors? Up, down, strange, charm, bottom, top? Aren't they impossible to observe in isolation?"

"For muggles." Malfoy said. "Do you remember the flasks I had?"

Hermione nodded in response.

"Well, I developed a potion that could basically disintegrate everything but the hadron—that's what quarks form. I was very busy, you see: learning and experimenting. You would have been surprised, seeing me working so hard. I managed to develop a potion while my addled mind attempted to cling to something akin to peace." His grim smile returned. "I am pleased with the results.

"Anyway, from the hadron, I magicked the quarks into isolation, and I observed that they held an electrical charge of sorts. In the clovers that I collected near the muggle city, this charge was considerably stronger than that of the clovers from my home. The muggle brainwaves added an electrical current strong enough to give the clovers magical qualities of sorts." He finished, looking to Hermione for an answer.

Frowning, Hermione looked at him in thought. "How are muggle brainwaves any different from a wizard's?"

"They _aren't_." Malfoy answered. "See that's what I had initially thought—but I found out that Wizards are born with a mental barrier—it's like a built-in shield of undeveloped occlumency abilities. It's involuntary, and so weak that we don't notice it. After all, a legilimens can effortlessly infiltrate the untrained mind, and I easily gave you my memories.

"But a muggle isn't born with this—there's no need for them to develop occlumency, so they've adapted and don't carry the gene in their DNA. Their lack of barrier allows their brainwaves to travel outwards. Our mental barrier causes our brainwaves to stay within."

Hermione looked at Malfoy in disbelief. "Muggle thoughts have that kind of ability? That's _fantastic_."

He smiled bitterly in response. "All that time spent thinking they were below us, and they've gone and done the impossible. Shown us up."

Suddenly something registered. "Malfoy, your knowledge on this subject is extensive—you don't need me to help you research, and you certainly don't need me to figure anything out." Hermione looked squarely into his eyes. "So that begs the question, why am I even here at all?"

"That comes in due time, Granger." He answered dismissively.

"I have more questions." Hermione didn't like his tone.

"Of course you do." he replied, exasperated.

"Did you learn all of this over the summer?" She was curious—it was widespread research and he would have had to learn an entire subject from the ground up.

"Yes." he said. "Minus a couple of weeks when I was… otherwise detained."

Hermione remembered the darkness from his memories and bookmarked it as another question.

"How?"

"You're going to have to me more detailed." Malfoy wearily replied.

"How did you learn so much?" Hermione amended.

"Well, I did this thing called reading. I hear it's all the rage." was his sardonic reply.

"You read that much in one summer?" Hermione failed at hiding the shock from her tone.

"You're aware that you aren't the only person capable of reading quickly, right Granger?" Malfoy bit out.

Hermione felt the conversation drifting towards familiar territory—a fight. She didn't think she could handle an argument after the information overload she had just experienced—not to mention the state of her poor head. Noticing that Malfoy's face had become tight with irritation, Hermione realized that if she wanted any other questions answered, she had to steer towards another course.

"What are we going to do with good luck charms?" she asked to change the subject.

"Nothing." he replied tersely. "We aren't using good luck charms."

"Then what are we using?" she felt her face contort into a look of confusion.

"You ask entirely too many questions." Malfoy closed his eyes. "Patience, Granger." he said through gritted teeth.

"Well, then what will I do while I wait for the answers?" she asked. Malfoy's face relaxed into an expression of neutrality.

"You read the files, you make corrections, and you do what you do best: learn." he returned. "Any other questions?" Malfoy looked like he regretted saying that the moment Hermione opened her mouth.

"Are you going to tell me about the period you spent in darkness?" She tentatively asked.

"That, my dear Granger, I am saving for a dark and stormy night."

::

Draco watched as Granger gave a puff of indignation. Who knew breathing could be so expressive? Already he knew her breathing when she was irritated, when she was panicking, and when she was angry. It was all very unnerving—up until recently, the only things he knew about her were her brilliance, birth and temper. Oh, and her inquisitive nature.

And inquisitive she was—nearly to a fault. She had asked so many questions, he could hardly keep up. Was this how her teachers felt? How had they _liked_ her?

Draco let his eyes wander; not noticing Granger was talking until he looked at her and saw her mouth moving.

"A dark and stormy night?" she asked, unamused.

"Because I've an inclination towards the dramatic." Draco sarcastically explained, though in reality he just wanted to divert the conversation. "Chin up, Granger. We're in England—you won't have to wait long."

Handing Granger the stack of papers he's sure he's been holding too long, Draco made his way to the door. Turning towards her, he said, "I'm hungry."

She looked at him with a quizzical expression. "And?"

"I'm going to get us food." he opened the door before turning again. "Start reading while I'm gone."

Smiling dryly to himself, Draco closed the door on Granger's pained sigh. Away from the small room, he allowed himself to breathe. Granger was being too cooperative—this whole situation was too much in his favor. It was only a matter of time before things went belly-up, and he was nursing a broken bone, or a ruptured artery. Or perhaps Granger would go easy on him and just kill him.

Suddenly, Draco doubted every move he had made—he wasn't lying when he said his plan was mad. His smile turned bitter, and he wondered when he had turned into a lunatic. After all, seeking help from Granger was certainly never on the to-do list, and perhaps she was too much trouble. Already, she had coaxed too many answers from him; and Draco liked to keep his secrets. He felt uncomfortable with the amount of information he had divulged—he needed to keep her curiosity piqued; it was what was keeping her with him for the time being, he was sure of it.

Seeking to change the direction of his increasingly anxious thoughts, Draco apparated to a muggle grocery store. The people in the shop looked at him strangely—autumn had just arrived, but he was pale as a sheet. Draco knew from past experience that the fluorescent lights made his skin look translucent. Coupled with his gaunt face and jutting cheekbones, he was sure he looked two paces away from terrifying.

On a quest for nourishment, Draco picked up a couple of apples, and a large sandwich to be split in half. Rounding his way to the other corner of the room, he picked up his favorite muggle delicacy: Poptarts.

His thoughts wandered back to Granger, sitting at his table and reading his messy scrawl. He allowed himself to smile—he could hardly read his own handwriting, so Granger had to be pulling her fluffy hair out in frustration. Congratulating himself on a job well done, Draco suddenly saw Granger's face deep in concentration: brows furrowed, lip worried by her teeth. Before he could forcibly shake this image from his mind, Draco noted that while Granger was certainly not beautiful, she had a quality that he was drawn to. She was soft brushstrokes, with her bushy hair and her rounder face, while he was jagged edges and straight lines. Perhaps, he concluded, the thing he appreciated about her was the fact that she was perfectly opposite from him—that he was ice, but she was a soft, warm rain.

Draco stopped himself, surrendering in his mental battle and shaking his head. He still didn't like Granger—no, he _loathed_ her. She was the same smart aleck he had hated in school, and her holier-than-though attitude constantly made his teeth grind. In fact, Draco knew that at the end of this ordeal he would be sending the girl a dental bill; his molars could not take this much pressure.

He silently checked out and exited the store, walking a few blocks before apparating back to the clearing. Night had fallen, and the stars served as sharp punctures in the dark fabric that had settled in the sky; light shone through the darkened tree leaves, casting strange and silvery shadows. Draco paused for a moment, his face turned upwards towards the stars, before traveling towards the house.

When he entered the lit room, food in tow, Granger was lying inert on the couch instead of reading like he had imagined. Her breathing was light, and she held a hand to her head.

"I'm not paying you to lie around and do nothing." Draco stated, looking down at her over his nose.

"You aren't paying me anything." Granger returned airily. The lack of acid in her tone made Draco suspicious.

He looked down at her uneasily, noticing her eyes were glazed and looking past him with bewilderment. "What are you looking at, Granger?"

His words caused her eyes to snap to him. "There are fireflies everywhere, Malfoy. I thought they lived outdoors." Her brow was glazed with sweat, causing the hair near her forehead to curl and frizz even more.

"There are no fireflies." Draco replied. Something was off and before his heart rate could escalate too much, Draco put the back of his hand to her damp forehead.

"Shit, Granger." he groaned. "You're burning up."

And at that moment, he decided that his previous thought was absolutely correct: Granger was entirely too much trouble; more trouble than she was worth.

His hand was still on Granger's forehead, and she looked at him in confusion. "You're hand is warm. That's so strange."

Realizing that she was marveling at the fact that his hands weren't ice cold, Draco tried to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "Yes, of course my hands are warm. I am a human, and our normal body temperatures are warm. Plus, I'm not a girl, so the heat of my hands remains regular because it doesn't need to go to my core—"

"Malfoy." Granger's face held no amusement. "I don't care."

Draco pursed his lips tightly, willing himself to breathe deeply.

Granger swatted his hand away and groaned. "My head feels like my brain wants to escape. It's been hurting all day." Her voice came out like a whine.

"Then why didn't you do something about it earlier?" Draco asked, slightly put off, his hand now in his hair.

"Well I'm sorry, but you didn't give me any time to, did you?" Granger snapped, eyes full of outrage. "I need medicine—if you'd be so kind to reach into my beaded bag and summon some headache meds, I'd be ever so grateful." Her voice was sickeningly sweet—like cough syrup.

Ignoring her liberal use of sarcasm, Draco did as he was told. He threw Granger a bottle of pills and retrieved her a glass of water from a bucket he kept in the room. Drinking the water gratefully, Granger swallowed her pills with a resigned sigh.

Settling into the couch she closed her eyes, before opening them and peering over at him. "Are you going to sit there all night?" she asked.

He merely looked at her. Seeing as she was not going to get an answer, Granger closed her eyes again. "I'm going to sleep." she sighed, more to herself than to Draco.

Draco blew out the light, and as his eyes adjusted, he listened to Granger's slumber-induced breathing. Moonlight seeped through the windows, soaking the room with its glow and illuminating the outline of her face. Even in the dark she was soft—soft edges, soft breaths.

"Sleep well, Granger." Draco whispered into the night before standing and exiting.

The moon seemed even brighter outside, and its rays lit his left arm. The Dark Mark in the daylight was enough to fill Draco with unease, but in the moonlight, it was even more sinister. It lay stark against the white of his skin, holding the promise of more terror and more darkness. The black served as a reminder that there were still shadows—still horrors lurking just behind him, just out of sight and out of reach.

Draco was going to panic—he could feel his breaths becoming jagged and felt his throat begin to constrict. Everything was spinning, and he had nothing to steady himself. He was falling, falling, falling—everything was getting further away and the shadows were moving, coming to consume him, to silence him forever.

Then he remembered the sleeping form on his couch, and the world was still again. The shadows started to slink away, and Draco took deep, greedy breaths in the cool night air. He wasn't alone—not anymore. He had Granger to shine a light; he had Granger to help. And maybe together, they could make the mark on his arm less disturbing. Maybe it could transform from a promise of darkness to a reminder that the light was only moments away.

Because it was, Draco was confident. The light was coming soon—all he had to do was wait.

* * *

**A/N:** So I've been hard at work with this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it and that it didn't sound too far-fetched. I figure that since the wizarding world is so full of crazy stuff, this wouldn't sound too impossible. I realize there are still questions that need to be answered and holes that must be filled, so stick with me.

That said, the stuff I made up about quarks is absolutely fictional-though they are organized into those six flavors and they are only observed in hadrons. It's the electrical current and composition change that are absolutely untrue. However, the information about neurons is true. So if you're feeling poetic, you have an entire of galaxy of stars in one tiny portion of your mind. If you are interested, I have links to different articles I used for research on my page. They are quite fascinating.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: It's all J.K. Rowling's.**

A/N: Here it is. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

IV.

_Crunch._

Hermione carefully opened an eye, groaning at the consequence. She had been awarded with an eyeful of Malfoy, who was seated on the only chair in the cottage. He had bitten into an apple, and was chewing balefully, if that was even possible.

"Ah, the sleeping dragon awakes." Malfoy said after swallowing. "Horrors."

Prepping to sit up, Hermione put a hand to her face. There was a cool cloth situated on her forehead, which she removed before glancing over at Malfoy.

"Did you do this?" she asked, holding up the compress.

He held his hands in front of him, as if washing his hands of the deed. "I didn't want to be blamed for your death." he admitted.

Ignoring her look of thanks, Malfoy walked to the table and picked up a box of Poptarts. "Hungry?" he asked. "I picked up some food for you last night, but I was hungry and ate it." he said, apology noticeably missing. "So as of five seconds ago," he continued, holding up his apple core, "Your options are Poptarts, or… Poptarts."

"Putting the fabulous array of delicacies you've provided me aside, I'm going to have to go with Poptarts." she answered, putting her hands up to catch the package he had hurled in her direction.

Hermione looked up from her uncovered breakfast. Pulling off a piece, she frowned. "Is this place safe?" She asked, seemingly out of the blue.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her before answering. "Yes, the foundation is sound and I cast some extra spells on the walls."

"No." Hermione interrupted. "Are we safe here?" She bit her lip uncertainly.

"Safe? We're never safe.' Malfoy replied. "But from a relative perspective, yes. We are safe for the time being—no one knows of this place but me. I found it a while back."

"How?" Hermione asked, almost involuntarily.

"Unimportant." He replied curtly. Clearing his throat while pointing to the stack of papers on the table, Malfoy walked to the cottage's door. "You should start reading. We'll talk when you're done."

And for the second time that morning, Hermione groaned.

::

The following days were long and tedious. Hermione spent the daylight hours solitary, reading Malfoy's files and finding they made a lot of sense. He had diagrams of brainwaves for every state of consciousness, and his information was succinct, well researched, and well written. Suffice to say, Hermione was pleasantly surprised.

The pleasantness ended there. In the span of one day, Malfoy had turned into a ghost. In fact, Hermione hadn't seen hide or tail of him since the morning he had offered her a Poptart. In the mornings when the sun was only just rising and Hermione awoke, he was already gone doing heavens knew what. During the day, she wouldn't hear a whisper from him, and by the time she fell asleep, head pounding and eyes heavy, he still had not have returned. In fact, the only way Hermione knew he had been in the cottage at all was by the food he left on the table for her.

Thus, it turned out Malfoy had meant what he said. Before he had deigned to speak a single word to her, he had waited for Hermione to finish reading—and it had taken three weeks.

At the end of those three weeks, Hermione sat at the table scribbling furiously, planning a multitude of escape routes. She had considered a variety of chaotic scenarios; most of them involved a surprise Death Eater attack, yet all of them ended with her safely escaping. So, If the need should ever arise, Hermione had a way out. She was completely prepared for everything. Mostly.

While she was scribbling, a hint of movement caught her eye. She all but jumped from her seat, pointin her wand at the intruder, and staring into the sullen face of Draco Malfoy.

"Good God!" she exclaimed. "You can't sneak up on me like that!"

"I'm sorry." Malfoy smirked, not sounding like he meant it. He appraised her with a silent look, and Hermione noticed he had a scabbing scratch running jagged down his cheek along with a fading purple bruise surrounding his eye.

"What happened to you?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Nothing." He quirked an eyebrow. "You're finished, I see." he said, gesturing to the cleaner table in front of him. Then, he noticed the papers filled with Hermione's handwriting. "And you're… up to something."

Before Hermione could answer him, he grabbed her elbow and led her out of the door. She attempted to wrench herself away, resulting in Malfoy tightening his grip.

"Walk with me, Granger." Malfoy said when they had entered deeper into the forest. He released her elbow just as she stumbled over a tree root. While she righted herself, Hermione sent him a glare, which he returned with a smirk. "I have something to show you." he continued.

"And what, pray tell, might it be?" She wryly demanded while rubbing her elbow.

But Malfoy ignored her inquiry, opting to fervently search the forest floor instead of answering. The wooded area was dimly shaded, and triangles of sunlight lit the dirt ground. Picking through rocks and leaves, Malfoy seemed to find what he was looking for. His satisfaction was recognizable through the barely audible sigh he released.

"Come here." Malfoy gestured from his crouched position, an almost eager light in his eyes. Unused to such expression from Malfoy, Hermione obliged, wary that he could be demonstrating some symptom of being mentally deranged. Far be it from her to ignore the request of a crazy person.

Hermione approached Malfoy, kneeling down in front of him and whatever he was harboring on top of the sizeable rock between them. He lifted his hands, revealing a small, gray mouse.

"Oh, how wonderful. A flea-bitten, rabid, wild animal. Trying to infect me with the bubonic plague or give me rabies, Malfoy? I hope it's the plague because if I get rabies, I will bite you and make sure you die with me."

Malfoy both rolled his eyes and sneered in perfect synchronization. "Such an imaginative conclusion for such a rubbish hypothesis. Shame."

He then waved his hands above the mouse's head, producing a translucent mosaic of color. In the center lay thousands of varied colors, not much larger than pinpricks. Those pinpricks developed into thin threads of hues, traveling outwards in wispy tendrils—almost like smoke. Hermione exhaled in surprise, sending the image away like leaves in the wind.

Malfoy sent her a very pointed glare before waving his hands and reproducing the image. Against her will, Hermione sent him an apologetic look.

After he had righted to image, Hermione looked up at him. "It's so pretty." she breathed carefully, trying not to upset any of the colored smoke.

Malfoy looked at her for a split second before training his eyes back to the mosaic. "It is."

He paused for a moment, then opened his mouth to speak.

"Wait!" Hermione blurted, causing Malfoy to jump. She then gestured to the mouse. "Are you hurting it?"

Malfoy's face remained impassive. "No, I am not."

"Oh." Hermione replied.

Malfoy looked at her for a moment before looking down and preparing to speak.

"Wait!" Hermione interrupted once again.

Clenching his jaw, Malfoy looked up at Hermione. "What is it, Granger?" he asked, face noticeably less stoic and considerably more red.

"Is it scared?"

Slowly, as if it took all his will power to do so, Malfoy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "No, it is not." He took another deep breath. "May I proceed now?"

"Well go ahead. It's not like anything's stopping you."

Malfoy exhaled slowly before beginning, red in his cheeks receding. His glare, however, was still present, as if it were etched in stone.

"This is called a connectome—it is a visual representation of the neurons and synapses within the brain. The image you see is made of enlarged neurons that I have colored by using magic. Muggles, I believe, use something creatively named "brainbow." The "brainbow" is rendered from fluorescent proteins, which are self-sufficient in creating wavelengths of their own, and are excellent for use in live cells. But, I digress.

Malfoy paused, looking at the uninterested expression on Hermione's face.

"I can assure you, there is a point to this. The image you see before you is a mouse's brain—interestingly enough, mice and humans have the same body to brain proportion ratio: 1/40. Do you see the intricacy, the unbelievable amount of detail in one small mind?"

Well, she wasn't blind. Nodding, Hermione murmured an answer in the affirmative.

"Now imagine this multiplied exponentially." Malfoy continued. "After all, a human brain is one thousand times more complex than a mouse's brain. Imagine the mosaic in front of you one thousand times more complex, colors swirling, intertwining until you cannot tell neurons from synapses; until you cannot distinguish the separate colors and separate lines.

"Imagine the power in that—the force of a single thought. But the mind doesn't operate on single thoughts. In this moment, as we speak, your mind is flitting from thought to thought—and that's at the forefront of your mind.

"The subconscious is less obvious. It holds memories—past experiences and knowledge. The subconscious lies beneath focal awareness and critical thought; you're probably most familiar with it in terms of psychoanalysis. However, I'm looking at it from a purely objective viewpoint.

"Subconscious thought produces theta brainwaves, and though these are less strong than the conscious beta waves, they succeed in changing an object's core. A muggle may learn that a four-leaf clover is lucky, but they aren't going constantly think about this fact. Instead, the idea enters the subconscious, where it is stored emitting low-frequency brainwaves. Don't be fooled." He added quickly, as if Hermione was in danger of falling prey to such ideas. "These brainwaves are powerful enough to change an object's core. After all, a single, conscious thought has the power of a galaxy—what's stopping a subconscious thought from having an exceptional influence?"

"But what allows the objects to retain their power? For an object to have any worth, does it need to experience the constant presence of muggles?" Hermione asked.

Malfoy's brow furrowed. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Different materials must be more receptive to thought than others." Hermione continued. "I mean, there's a huge difference between a hunk of metal and a plant."

"Different materials retain their qualities better than others." He agreed. "Water, for example, is highly conducive to retaining thought. But there are some things that grow amid muggle thought, that are born into their characteristics."

Hermione interrupted. "And these things hold their power for how long?"

"Indefinitely." was his reply.

::

With his cover blown and his invisibility cloak consequently rendered useless, Harry Potter dodged countless spells as he bounded towards the Ministry's entrance. He could feel his face reddening with exertion, but the buzz of adrenaline in his veins warded off any pain.

Running like mad at his side was Ron Weasley. As the Polyjuice wore off, Ron's strides became longer, forcing Harry to exert himself even further. When Harry turned to look at him, Ron's brown hair was returning back to its usual red in streaks, his eyes were already back to being blue, and his trousers were becoming dangerously short.

"You know, I don't think I'll ever get tired of running." Ron wheezed, attempting to sound sarcastic.

"All your best stories do end with running away." Harry answered, breath heavy.

"Well, this adventure is certainly going to be one to tell the grandkids." Ron answered before turning his head over his shoulder and firing a hex at their pursuers.

Harry kept facing ahead, navigating around unsuspecting people. Holding the locket he had ripped from Umbridge's neck in one hand, he pulled the invisibility cloak off with the other. Now he could see his legs and run without being hindered by the twisting fabric; escape was looking less impossible by the second.

Ron turned his head. "Thank Merlin every competent guard is at Hogwarts right now, otherwise you and I would be dead by now."

"Thank him _after _we're out of here." Harry said. "They still have time to kill us."

And they did. The atrium was filled to the brim with witches and wizards, making it almost impossible to navigate. There were obstacles literally everywhere and too many strides before the doors.

Plus, the guards were gaining on them. With Harry and Ron clearing a path, the sentinels had considerably less trouble traveling through the ministry, and thus were hot on their tails.

Ron looked behind himself and gave a small noise of discomfort. "They're getting closer. We're going to have to pick up steam if we want to survive 'til tomorrow." He said, sending another hex over his shoulder.

Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to run any faster, but he sure as hell wasn't going to get killed because of inadequate running skills. He'd _never _live that down. So, with willpower he didn't know he had, Harry increased his speed. Even with high levels of adrenaline, he could feel his legs burning and he was sure they were merely blurs amidst the gray backdrop of the atrium tiles.

The guards were still closing in on them, firing misaimed hexes and curses; the atrium was an absolute mélange of violent color and shouted words. A purple light flew past Harry's head, singeing his hair and knocking into the frame of his glasses.

"Shit!" Ron exclaimed as a red light burned a hole through his jumper. "This is my favorite!" Angrily, he fired another hex, hitting his target.

"Ron, look ahead!" Harry shouted, just in time for Ron to dodge the confused old woman in his path.

"Sorry, ma'am!" he called behind him.

Sprinting a little more, they were almost to the doors and away from the chaos they had caused. With one final burst of speed, they flung open the Ministry doors, falling into the damp London air. The guards were still running after them, and before apparating back to safety, Ron turned to Harry, red hair flying and trousers ripping. "When this is all over, remind me to vacation someplace sunny." He wheezed.

Two consecutive _cracks_ later, the duo was back in Grimmauld place.

Sunlight was weakly streaming from behind clouds and into the windows, casting light on the dust motes that floated like small flecks of gold. The light soon ended in shadow, gray and solemn, which swallowed the golden flecks and diminished the sun.

Ron immediately started chatting amiably, speaking in rushed excitement about their success at the Ministry. Not really listening, Harry nodded as enthusiastically as he could. Something wasn't right—something was causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand.

Not one to notice such subtle changes as these, Ron turned to Harry. "All that running's made me hungry. Want me to get you something to eat, too?"

Harry shook his head in the negative. Shrugging in response, Ron immediately began towards the kitchen.

As soon as Ron was gone, Harry raised his wand.

"You've got an excellent disillusionment charm on, but I can feel you here. Show yourself. Before I do something rash." His voice was cool, his eyes narrowed.

In the sunlight, a hooded figure appeared, his disillusionment charm fading slowly like a downward falling trickle of water.

"Mr. Potter, I believe your rash actions shall be your undoing." The figure's voice was magically altered, but it still managed to retain a very cold edge. "Your stupidity at the Ministry may have compromised your entire mission. Do you not understand the Dark Lord will become suspicious if your movements do not remain covert?"

"How did you get in here?"

"Easily. Wards are penetrable."

"Who are you, and how do you know about my mission?" Harry demanded, his green eyes cold as ice.

"I am a messenger of sorts." the figure replied.

"Who sent you?" Harry's eyes did not waver from the man, his wand remaining aimed at his chest.

"No one of this world." The hooded stranger stated simply.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Make of it what you will." The figure stated. "Now, I have little time. Before I lose my patience, I've come here to tell you something. The locket you hold in your hand requires something of great strength for its destruction. No simple spell will do."

"What do I need?" Harry asked.

"What do you think?" Harry felt that if he could see the stranger's eyes, they would have rolled.

"A weapon?"

"Naturally."

"Where might I find this weapon?" Harry inquired.

"Someplace unexpected." The figure returned.

There was a pause as the stranger began walking. "Oh, one more thing." He started, almost as an afterthought. "You should ask Miss Granger who is helping her." he said as he started towards the door.

"What do you know about Hermione?" Harry demanded. Continuing toward the door, the stranger pointedly ignored Harry's question. In his frustration, Harry fired a curse.

The figure easily deflected it. "Now, now Potter. You can't shoot the messenger."

In a blink, he was gone. Sunlight still sprayed the floor, the shadows still consumed the light. Harry huffed in irritation before storming into the kitchen.

"Ron, we need to go. We need to leave right now."

Ron's brow was furrowed in worry, his blue eyes held alarm. "Why?"

"Grimmauld place isn't safe anymore."

::

Hermione silently processed all the information Malfoy had given to her. He brought up interesting conclusions, but she had yet to make her own with regards to his character.

He had said he was tired of shadows, he had packed up and left his home—it was a basic admission of defection. But, Hermione couldn't assume he had deserted. After all, this was Malfoy: destroyer of safety and bringer of trouble. He was a coward, and a fool. He had threatened her parents and used deception to take her away, yet he had not harmed her and had entrusted her with multitudes of sensitive information.

Malfoy was a whisper—a ghost. More enigma than human, more cold than alive. He was tight-lipped and careful, never showing too much, never feeling too much. Hermione tried to read him, but couldn't.

"Are you a Death Eater?" she suddenly blurted before clamping her mouth shut. _Really tactful._

Malfoy, to her surprise, did not look offended. Instead, he wore a tired look on his face, his eyes betraying nothing.

"What do you think?" he questioned her.

"I'm not sure what to think. I need you to answer." Hermione replied, her brown eyes boring into his gray ones.

Slowly, he began to speak. "Tell me, Granger. How many ways can you kill a man?" Glancing at her perplexed expression, he continued. "If you think about it carefully, you'll find there is no definitive answer."

The sun was beating through the canopy of leaves above them, tinting everything with a greenish hue. The world seemed to quiet with Malfoy's words, and Hermione could hear the steady beating of her heart.

Malfoy was still for a moment, watching her. "In the art of death," he said, "there are limitless possibilities. When there are no rules involved, dying becomes a many-faceted torture."

Looking down at his left arm, Malfoy whispered, "I would know—I am well educated."

The silence around them became oppressive and the sunlight seemed to darken. Malfoy waited another moment before raising his eyes to hers.

"Now, Granger, What exactly is death?"

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but Malfoy held up a hand.

"Technically, death occurs when the heart stops beating and the brain shuts down—when the spark of life given by these organs disappears forever.

"But what if the brain works, but the mind is gone? Isn't that death? What if the body breathes, but the soul has been taken? Isn't that death?"

Malfoy frowned, choosing his words before speaking again.

"There is a line that exists between life and death—a line that is constantly blurred."

He stopped again. His gray eyes looked past Hermione, as if they were searching for the line he had spoken about.

"You know," he stated after a long pause, making Hermione jump. "Death Eaters consider themselves conquerors of death. Though they couldn't be more wrong—death has conquered them.

"Death frightens them—even more than normal. So, to cope with their fears, they use murder as a weapon. They are creative and constantly toe the nebulous line between realms. They relish in seeing the spark of life extinguish; they enjoy taking souls and ripping safety to shreds.

"But they do not understand death, and therefore cannot overcome it. The Death Eaters do not understand death for what it is: a mercy.

"So to answer your question, Granger," he said, looking into the sky before looking at her. "No, I am not a Death Eater. I may bear their mark, but I am not one of them." He punctuated his sentence with venom, his eyes lighting with something akin to disgust.

"But there is one thing you should know." He continued, face calm again. "Though I am not a Death Eater, death still follows me wherever I go. He taunts me, asking me to use him, and punishing me when I do not by taking those closest to me."

As she looked into the dark mesh of woods behind him, Hermione could feel Malfoy's eyes on her. She met them, immediately noticing the questioning look on his face.

"Before I tell you anything more, I have to ask you if you're willing to stay. Because I am dangerous, I am frightened, and I cannot guarantee your safety should death come to call."

Hermione opened her lips to speak, but Malfoy raised a finger to them.

"If you say no, I will let you leave; I will not stand in your way. You will be safe, or at least as safe as a person of your birth can be.

"However, if you say yes, there is not turning back. The information I tell you will involve you too much; you will not be able to run away. Your fate will be entwined with mine; your safety will disappear entirely.

"As always, the choice is yours. Say no, and you can go. Say yes, and you join me on a quest that may only be a wild goose chase. It may be futile, and it may end in the worst way possible."

"But it has the potential to save everyone." Hermione's whispered statement educed a nod of assent from Malfoy.

Hermione contemplated for only a moment—after all, her answer was quite simple and had always been clear.

"I say yes."


End file.
